


Follow the Jelly Beans

by Julibean19



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Boys Kissing, Christmas Fluff, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Single Parent Stiles Stilinski, Uncle Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-11 09:22:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12932286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julibean19/pseuds/Julibean19
Summary: Derek waves hello to everyone else who is gathered around a bare tree and hops up the stairs to his childhood bedroom to put on his soft flannel bottoms.  Gracie had picked them out especially for him last Christmas and he made sure to pack them for the traditional pajama decorating party.Only his pants aren’t in the bag.  In fact, none of his belongings are in the bag.  It’s not his bag at all.“Oh no,” he mutters, sifting through the contents.  “Who the fuck packed this?”





	Follow the Jelly Beans

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WitchWithWifi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchWithWifi/gifts).



> Happy Holidays and/or Seasons Greetings to my Secret Santa, caffeine-in-an-iv aka WitchWithWifi! I heard you liked Christmas fluff! Well, have I got some fluff for you! I really hope you enjoy it! Thanks so much for reading!

Derek can’t believe he’s the last one off the plane.  

It’s partially his fault, he’d been working late and had to rush to the airport.  The dirty looks he’d gotten when he ran down the aisle of the plane in a crumpled suit rivaled what he had gotten from his mother on Skype that morning when he said he’d be catching a later flight.  

It isn’t Derek’s fault that his students had handed in work at the last minute that had to be graded before Christmas break.  He knows he’s been too soft on them, but he’s always been a sucker for personal statements and reading about his students’ holiday traditions made him even more lenient than usual.

He’d shoved himself into the middle seat closest to the rear lavatory with a sheepish look on his face.  It was a six-hour flight from New York to Sacramento and he clutched his worn copy of _A Christmas Carol_ and settled in to read it like he did every winter.  

By the time he deplanes and makes it to baggage claim, his suitcase is the only one left.  The tag is torn off but he’s already missed 8 calls from Cora and just grabs it quickly before rushing outside.

“Get in, loser!” she calls from the window of her Jeep.  “Everyone is waiting for you to decorate the tree!”

“Christmas is in like two days, and you still haven’t decorated?” Derek asks, throwing his ratty rollaway bag into the trunk.  

“Mom wanted us to all be together.  But _someone_ had to go and move halfway across the world.”

“I like my job, Cora,” Derek says, buckling his seatbelt.  “You don’t just turn down Columbia.”

“You sound like such an East Coast snob when you say stuff like that,” she says, weaving through the crazy holiday traffic.

“And you’re my least favorite sister.”

“Ha fucking ha,” she says, narrowing her eyes.  “Your life is in my hands right now, don’t mess with me,” she adds, changing lanes just a hair too close for Derek’s comfort.

It takes a few hours but they make it back to the house in one piece and Derek can already hear the kids screaming as they pull into the drive.  It makes him smile.  He doesn’t get home as often as he should and hopes the small gifts he has packed are enough for him to keep his title as favorite uncle.

”Finally!” he hears from the front porch as he grabs his suitcase.  “I thought you’d walked here.”

His mother is just as striking as ever, just a few streaks of grey in her dark hair betraying her age.  “Sorry, Mom,” he says softly into her hair as he’s pulled into a hug.

“Uncle Derek!” someone screams as they tackle him around the knees.  “It’s pajama time!”

“I can see that!” he says, stooping down to get a hug and a kiss from Laura’s youngest.  “Give me a minute and I’ll go change.”  He waves hello to everyone else who is gathered around a bare tree and hops up the stairs to his childhood bedroom to put on his soft flannel bottoms.  Gracie had picked them out especially for him last Christmas and he made sure to pack them for the traditional pajama decorating party.

Only his pants aren’t in the bag.  In fact, none of his belongings are in the bag.  It’s not his bag at all.  

“Oh no,” he mutters, sifting through the contents.  “Who the fuck packed this?”

The suitcase is utter chaos.  There’s an assortment of wrapped Christmas gifts and scrunched up clothes but there’s also a bunch of half knitted scarves, action figures, baby toys and… are those throwing stars in that carrying case?  To cap it all off, every nook and cranny of the bag is full of loose jelly beans.  

“Oh my God,” Laura snickers from the doorway.  “Did you switch bags with a killer Easter Bunny?”

“I have no idea,” he says, pulling out a noise machine and a copy of _Go the Fuck to Sleep_.  

“Is that a fishing rod?” she asks, stepping forward to grab an oblong shape out of a long pocket.  “This thing is kind of cool,” she says, snapping the rod together to its full length.  “It’s like stealth fishing.”

“I need to call the airline,” Derek says, reaching for his phone.  “I had all the gifts in there.  And I don’t think I can fit in any of these clothes,” he adds, pulling out a well-worn Batman tee shirt that’s at least two sizes too small for him.  

He’s on hold for twenty minutes with Laura tapping her foot and looking at her watch before the helpline connects.  They are no help at all.  Does he know how many bags get lost during Christmas?  It’s impossible for them to match up every bag with every person and there’s nothing matching his description left at the airport.  Someone else must have taken his bag by mistake.  So sorry, happens all the time, Merry Christmas.

“Fuck!” he groans, ending the call.  “Someone else has my bag and I’ve got this… whatever this junk is.”

“We could just give the kids these and hope they’re not porn,” Laura says, chuckling as she reaches for one of the wrapped presents.  It’s Star Wars wrapping paper.  R2-D2 is wearing a Santa hat and everything.  

“You can’t do that, Laura!” Derek says, snatching the present out of her hand.  “You’re going to ruin someone’s Christmas.”

“You’re such a Tiny Tim,” Laura teases, dropping the present with a huff.  “We’ll figure it out tomorrow.  It’s getting close to bedtime for the kids and we still have to decorate and have hot chocolate.  You know how Dad is about tradition.”

“I’m coming, just…” he trails off, opening a drawer and finding nothing but old clothes from high school  “Can I borrow something from Adam?  I don’t have any pajamas to wear.”

“Sure thing, bro,” she says, leading him out of the room.

* * *

It’s wonderfully chaotic as always, and the footie Minion pajamas Derek is forced into only add to the ridiculousness of it all.  Thirteen people under one roof is always a bit crazy, but coming in late without any of his belongings has Derek feeling a bit more overwhelmed than usual.

“I don’t think you’re going to be getting your stuff back, sweetheart,” Talia says hours later as the adults share a much-needed glass of wine.  “We can do some last minute shopping tomorrow if you really want, but the kids are just happy you’re here.”

“I had a 50th Anniversary copy of _The Hobbit_ for West,” Derek groans, rubbing at his beard.  

“And you didn’t carry it on?” Peter asks, swirling his wine with his feet up in his wife’s lap.  “It’s like you were asking for it.”

“I’ll help you see if there are any clues in the bag,” Cora says, tossing a dirty look in Peter’s direction.  

They go through everything in the bag piece by piece, sorting it into piles and collecting the jelly beans in a ziplock bag.  Without opening the presents, there aren’t a lot of clues.  The only identifying item is a ratty old Beacon Hills High Lacrosse tee shirt.  

“This looks at least five years old, maybe ten,” Cora says, holding it up to her chest.  “The underwear tells me it’s a dude, at least.”

“I don’t think I can go to the high school and ask, ‘hey I know this is a long shot but do you know whose boxers these are?  They used to go here ten years ago,’” Derek says, rolling his eyes.

“Why don’t you just open a present,” she suggests, shaking a box.  It doesn’t make any noise.  “It’s not like the guy can’t re-wrap them.”

“I don’t know,” Derek says, flopping down on his back on his old full bed.  “It feels weird and invasive.”

“Just imagine that he’s probably touching your underwear now, too.  If that makes you feel any better,” she says, poking him in the side as she drops the box back in the suitcase.

“Somehow that’s not comforting,” Derek groans, kicking out at her.  

“Why don’t you just start with one,” she says, holding up another small package.  “If that doesn’t help you can try another one.  That way you won’t ruin everything,  you big baby.”

“Okay,” Derek says, not having any better ideas.  He grabs the gift and reads the tag.  “To Scott:  Finally saw one of these come through the store and nabbed it for you.”  Derek peels back the corner of the paper and finds a Funkopop box.  Sliding through the tape and removing the paper he sees that it’s a glow in the dark White Walker.

“I have no idea,” Cora says, quickly becoming bored.  “Try the comic book store in the morning.  If they’re even open on Christmas Eve.”

Derek does exactly that.  He checks online and is standing out front of Beacon Hills Comics with a cup of coffee exactly when it opens.  

“Can I help you?” the clerk asks, eyebrows high.  Derek must not look like their typical customer in his tweed jacket and slacks.  

“I kind of found this,” he says, putting the box on the table.  “And I was wondering if you could tell me about it.”

“Seriously?” he says, eyes brightening as he carefully lifts the box.  “These are really rare.  You just found it somewhere?”

“It’s a long story,” Derek says, sighing.  “Do you know where someone might have gotten it?”

“Are you looking to sell?  Because I’ll give you $200 for it.”

“Thank you, but no,” Derek says, shaking his head.  He has no idea if that’s a fair price or not, but he’s sure as hell not selling someone else’s Christmas gift.  

“Most of the time people buy and sell these on eBay or at stores like this.  The super rare ones are only sold at like Comicon and stuff.”

“Okay…” Derek says, puzzling through the information.  “So whoever bought this is a nerd?”

“We’re all nerds,” the man says with a huff.  “This guy is a collector.  Someone serious.”

“Okay,” Derek says, reaching for the doll.  “Thanks for your help.”

“$300!” the guy calls as Derek leaves the store.

“No deal,” he says with a small smile on his face, more determined than ever.

He thinks it over while he plays Guess Who with the kids.  The more he thinks about the collection or random stuff in the suitcase, the more he thinks he might like to meet whoever owns it.

Under the watchful eye of Laura and his mother, he helps Gracie, West, Charlotte, and Milo decorate Christmas cookies, which is more of a test of patience than anything.  By the time they’re done, Derek is covered in frosting and has sprinkles stuck in his beard.  He takes a second shower before choosing another present to open.

This one is much larger than the last, but a completely ridiculous shape.  The tag reads: “To Allison: Your other gift got shipped, but I thought you’d enjoy this.  Might be fun to scare the kids with.”

Derek slips the paper off to find a headband in his hand.  There’s an arrow going through it.  He cracks up.  Who is this guy?  A magician?  An evil mastermind?  An eccentric preschool teacher?

There’s no way the headband is going to help him get anywhere, so he digs another present out of a pile of jelly beans.  This one is squishy and the tag reads: “To Melissa: No more putting it off.  It’s time for your childhood dreams to come true.  Eat your heart out, Tonya Harding.”

Inside is a pair of fur-lined mittens.  Slipped inside one of them is an envelope containing a voucher for ice skating lessons… at the Beacon Hills rink.  Smiling to himself, Derek rounds up the kids and loads them into Laura’s minivan for a fun surprise trip with Uncle Derek.

Gracie and West help the other two on with their skates while Derek speaks to the front office.  Their website is down so they’re unable to trace orders that were placed online, but they tell him that he’s welcome to schedule his first ice skating lesson now if he likes.  Derek politely declines, shaking his head.  Another dead end.

Derek laces up his own skates and steps out onto the ice, smiling as the weightless easy feeling takes over him.  He watches the kids race around the rink, screaming and laughing as they fall all over each other under the twinkling of the arena’s Christmas lights.  

Not for the first time, Derek wonders if he’ll ever have something like this, a loving partner and a couple of kids to bring home to his parents’ for the holidays.  Maybe it’s time to give online dating another try.  If there’s anyone half as interesting as the suitcase man out there, he might want to ask them for a date.

After a few hours, Derek rounds the kids back up and treats them to hot chocolate.  He sits with Milo on his lap and sings along to the Christmas carols being pumped through the tinny arena speakers with a smile on his face.  Even a bit of scalding cocoa spilled on his pants does little to dampen the spirit of the season.  

“What are you thinking about?” Gracie asks him on their way back to the car, already far too perceptive for her age.

“How things are going to be next Christmas,” he says, smiling sweetly down at her as they help the younger kids into their car seats.  “You think you’ll get another sister or brother by then?” he teases.

“I hope not.  I already heard Mom say Milo was an accident,” she stage whispers.

Derek laughs freely, making sure everyone is buckled in tight before heading back to the Hale house.  As they sit beside the fire reading _The Night Before Christmas_ later that evening, Derek thinks about the suitcase man and who he might be spending Christmas with.

Unable to sleep from all the chocolate he’s had in the last two days, Derek stares at the ceiling at 11 p.m.  He’s no closer to finding out where his suitcase is and tomorrow is Christmas.  

 _One more_ , he tells himself, getting up and flicking the light back on.  He digs around in the suitcase until he finds the present Cora shook the night before.  

Carefully slitting the tape, Derek reveals a plain white box.  Inside, painstakingly wrapped in white tissue paper is a framed photograph.  It’s old, the colors worn and tinted orange like so many other family photos he’s seen over the years.  

A man stands next to a police cruiser, one hand leaning against the roof while the other holds tight to the leg of the young boy who’s sitting on his shoulders.  It’s shot from behind, so Derek can’t see their faces, but he knows for sure this is a special photograph.  He also knows that the little boy in the photos must be the one who went to Beacon Hills High ten years ago and filled his suitcase with jelly beans.  

He stares at the photo for a long time, tracing the lines of the car with his finger until it clicks.  This boy’s father was a local police officer.  If he was twenty years ago, maybe he still is and if not, at least someone at the station would be able to identify the car.  

Moving quickly, Derek makes sure everything is back in the suitcase before grabbing the photograph and rushing downstairs.  “Hey Peter, can I borrow your car?” he asks quietly.  Peter and his wife Savannah are curled up on the couch, Charlotte asleep between them.

“Keys are in the kitchen,” he says softly, brushing the hair out of Charlotte’s face as Savannah looks on.  Her eyes are sleepy but bright with love, it’s obvious how happy they are together.  

Derek’s heart aches as he stares for a second, caught up in the sight of something he’s not sure he’ll ever experience himself.  Shaking his head slightly, he pushes on, retrieving Peter’s keys and shoving the suitcase in the trunk.  It’s a short ride to the Sheriff’s station and Derek barely even has time to think about what he’s going to say before he’s heading inside.

“Can I help you?” the dispatcher says, barely looking up from the paperwork he’s shuffling through.

“I was wondering if you knew who was in this picture?  I think they might work here,” Derek says, holding out the frame.

The dispatcher laughs.  “That’s a good one,” he says, handing the photo back.  “Hey Sheriff!” he calls behind him.  “Someone here to see you!”

“How many times have I told you to use the intercom,” a man says, poking his head out of an office down the hall.  He’s imposing in his uniform but looks kind, blonde and tan with a coffee mug in his hand.  

“It’s a small office, Sheriff,” the man says, turning back to his paperwork.  

“Don’t I know it,” the Sheriff says, sighing as he leans his hand on the doorframe.  “That’s why we’re all working on Christmas Eve.  What can I do for you, son?” he asks, turning to Derek.

“Uhh…” Derek says, stepping forward when the Sheriff waves him over.  “I think…” he trails off again searching for the words.  “Is this you?” he asks instead, holding out the photograph.

“Wow,” he says, taking it and sitting down heavily in his desk chair.  “Where did you get this?”

“I got the wrong bag at the airport,” Derek says, watching the Sheriff’s face intently as he studies the photograph.  It’s happy, but also wistful.  It makes Derek think that while the suitcase man in the picture is probably still alive, maybe the person who took the photo isn’t.  “It was full of all this completely insane stuff, but also a few presents.  That was one of them.”

“So you’re the one who ended up with Stiles’ bag,” the Sheriff says, a smile spreading across his face as he starts to chuckle.  “He’s an odd one, my son.”

“Do you want the bag?” Derek asks, a little put out.  After all the work he put in to finding the suitcase man, he kind of wants to see it through to the end.

“I’m working the night shift tonight.  Why don’t you go to my house and give it to him?  Just don’t ring the bell or you’ll wake the baby.  If that’s not too much trouble?”

“Sure.  No problem,” Derek says, taking the photo back when it’s offered.  Knowing there’s actually a baby involved at least makes sense of half of the items in the suitcase, the others, not so much.  “Thanks, Sheriff.”

“Call me John,” the man says, holding out his hand.  “It’s 129 Woodbine Lane,” he adds, walking Derek out.  “And thanks for hunting him down.  Especially on Christmas.  It would have been a shame to lose that photo.”

“You’re welcome,” Derek says, turning toward the door.  “I’m Derek, by the way.”

“I know who you are, son,” John says, clapping him on the shoulder.  “I’ve lived here for years.  Your sister went to school with Stiles.”

“Oh,” Derek says softly.  He’s kind of struck dumb by what a small world it is, that Stiles was on the same flight as him coming home to Beacon Hills for Christmas on the same day with a bag that exactly matched his.  “I’ll get this to him.”

“Make sure he gives you a proper thank you,” John adds, waving before heading back to his office.  

Derek gets back in the car and heads over to Woodbine.  He must have run down this block a hundred times as a kid and never knew the Sheriff or his son.  Retrieving the bag from the trunk, Derek walks slowly up the front steps.  He’s thought of nothing else for the past 36 hours and yet now that he’s here he’s hesitant to knock.  

Taking a deep breath, Derek raises his hand and gives the glass a light rap.  A few seconds later the curtain flies open and a freckled face appears.  Derek waves, mouthing “hi” like Stiles has any idea who he is.  He points down at the suitcase and hopes Stiles will get the idea.

The door opens quietly and the suitcase man invites him inside.  He takes the bag from Derek’s hand and immediately opens it on the coffee table.  “I swear to God, if the Binky Bear isn’t in here, I’m going to lose my shit.”

“What?” Derek says, eyebrows flying up.  

“Binky Bear.  It’s this little stuffed bear with a nipple attached.  Have you seen it?”

“Uhh…” Derek says, getting lost for a second when he looks down to see the waistband of the man’s underwear sticking up out of his pajama bottoms.  “I think in the side pocket maybe?” he walks around the table to the other side of the suitcase and unzips a hidden pocket, revealing the bear.

“Thank fuck,” Stiles says, grabbing the bear and clutching it to his chest.  “I thought I had it in the diaper bag and then it was nowhere and I just… it was touch and go there for a while, I’m not gonna lie.  I thought she was going to eat me.”

“Your... daughter?” Derek asks, not wanting to assume anything further.

“Yeah, she’s two and when they say terrible, they mean terrible, holy fuck,” he says, flopping down on the couch, looking exhausted.  

“Ah,” Derek says, not knowing what he’s supposed to do now.  “Are you supposed to curse this much if you have a two-year-old?”

“She’s sleeping, Suitcase Man,” Stiles says, pinching the bridge of his nose.  “It doesn’t happen very often so when it does, you have to take full advantage.  You don’t have kids, do you?”

“Uhh no,” Derek says, scratching at his beard awkwardly.  “I have nieces and nephews.”

“Wait a second,” Stiles says, eyes narrowing in Derek’s direction.  “You’re Derek Hale, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” he says, shrugging his shoulders.  

“The beard threw me off for a minute but I never forget a face,” Stiles says.  “I went to school with you.  Same year as Cora.”

“She didn’t say…” Derek says, trying to string a coherent sentence together.  “I mean we saw the lacrosse shirt in the bag but we didn’t really know who it was.”

“How did you find me then?” he asks, heading to the fridge and returning with two beers, handing one to Derek.

“This,” Derek says, pulling the framed photo from the inside pocket of his coat.  “I went to the Sheriff’s station.  Met your dad.”

“That’s A+ detective work, Mr. Hale,” Stiles jokes, tipping his beer toward Derek.

“I didn’t want to open the presents, but I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“It’s alright, I’d given it up as a lost cause.  I must have your bag.  Sorry about that, by the way.  I may have rage dumped it looking for the Binky Bear.”

“That’s alright,” Derek says, mind reeling.  Stiles is without a doubt one of the most peculiar people he’s ever met.  “I have to ask though… what’s with the jelly beans?”

“Well, Derek,” Stiles says, propping his feet up on the suitcase.  It slouches him down far enough that a strip of his stomach is showing between his underwear and his Green Arrow tee shirt.  “When your ex-girlfriend shows up on your doorstep with a two-year-old and says she’d like to relinquish custody, you do just about whatever it takes to get that little baby girl potty trained.  The only thing that seems to work is jelly beans.  She inherited my penchant for junk food.  The bag popped while I was packing but I just kind of went with it.  I needed those jelly beans, Derek.”

“Huh,” Derek says, frowning.  “I was thinking magician.”

“What?” Stiles crows, practically folding himself in half as he spasms with laughter.  “What made you say magician?”

“I don’t know… the throwing stars and the scarves and the arrow headband thingy?  It was either that or super villain,” Derek says in a huff. 

“I own a comic book store in New York,” Stiles says, still laughing.  “Although I might take up villainy on the side.  Sounds like a sweet gig.”

“I teach English at Columbia,” Derek says.  “Not as fun as a comic book store, I’m sure.”

“What’s your favorite book?” Stiles asks, narrowing his eyes.  “Be warned that our fledgling relationship depends on your answer.”

“Don’t ask me that,” Derek says, groaning.  “That’s not fair.  I can’t pick one book.”

“Answer the question, Mr. Hale,” Stiles says, staring him down.

Derek downs the rest of his beer before saying, “ _Don Quixote_ ,” with a grimace.

“No shit,” Stiles says.  “I bet you’re bilingual too,” he adds rolling his eyes.  

Derek doesn’t even bother answering.  He _is_ bilingual, but he knows Stiles is just trying to embarrass him.

“Try again.  What’s your second favorite book?”

“ _Welcome to the Monkey House_ ,” Derek says immediately.

“Better,” Stiles says, tossing his head back and forth like he’s considering it.

“What’s your favorite book then?  If you’re going to be so judgmental about it,” Derek says, eyebrows raised.  

“ _Ender’s Game_ ,” Stiles says.  Before Derek even has time to consider this, he shoots back, “Favorite author?”

“Neruda,” Derek says, flashing Stiles a grin.

“Poetry doesn’t count,” Stiles says.  He’s shaking his head but he’s smiling.  

“My PhD in literature begs to differ,” Derek says as Stiles hops off the couch for more beer.  He’s already feeling loose and comfortable, all awkwardness of their meeting flown out the window.

“Fine,” Stiles says, flopping back on the couch.  “Favorite band, then.”

He’s closer to Derek now, his feet practically in Derek’s lap.  There’s an easy familiarity to the gesture that makes something in Derek relax even further.  

“What is this?  A job interview?” Derek asks, laughing as he watches Stiles’ beer foam over.  

Stiles chases the spill with his tongue, licking his fingers as it drips down his hand.  “I figured it was more like speed dating,” he says once his hand is clean.  “People don’t just hunt you down over some jelly beans.  You must be something special.”

“I was… curious,” Derek says, feeling his face heat under his beard.  “Interested.”

“Well now I’m interested,” Stiles says easily, flashing him a smile.

They end up talking for hours.  Derek asks question after question, eager to find out more about the mysterious man he’s been led to by some sort of twisted Christmas miracle.  Stiles teases him mercilessly, making him laugh and blush harder than he has in years.  

Eventually, a sharp cry rings out through the baby monitor on the end table and Derek startles.  “She’s not going to go back down easy,” Stiles says, peeling himself away from Derek’s side where he’d settled the last time he’d come back from the bathroom.

“I can go,” Derek says, pointing to the door.  He glances at his watch and sees that it’s nearly 3 a.m.  

“Stay,” Stiles says, reaching for his hand.  “I have your clothes anyway.  We can talk more.  You shouldn’t drive this late at night on Christmas Eve.  Too many drunks on the road.”

Derek wants to argue, but all of that sounds perfectly reasonable to him.  “Okay,” he says, following Stiles to a bedroom that’s currently serving double duty as an office and a nursery.  

“Shh, Wonder Woman, it’s alright,” Stiles coos, reaching down into the crib for the baby girl who is standing up, clinging to the bars and screaming.  “I heard you the first time.”

Derek stares.  The girl is wearing Wonder Woman themed footie pajamas, her auburn hair curling around her tiny ears.  She has Stiles’ little upturned nose and matching freckles on her round face.  

“This is Claire,” he says, fitting the crying child against his hip like he’s been doing it for years and not just a few weeks.  “Claire, this is my new friend Derek.”

She immediately hides her face in her father’s neck and quiets down.  Stiles bounces her a few times, exiting the room and leading Derek down the hall to what must be his own childhood bedroom.  There are posters on the walls of some of the bands Stiles had mentioned and superhero paraphernalia everywhere.  

“I believe that is yours,” Stiles says, nodding to the corner where Derek’s suitcase stands.  “Put on some PJs and join us,” he adds, sitting down on the edge of the bed and patting Claire’s butt to check for leaks.  

“Thank you,” Derek says.  All his clothes and gifts are inside, still wrapped and folded the way he left them.  He pulls out his flannel pajama bottoms and ducks into the bathroom to change.

When he gets back, Stiles is lying down on the bed, Claire resting on his chest with the Binky Bear tucked into her mouth.  She’s awake and babbling nonsense around the pacifier.  Stiles speaks softly to her, “Really?  That’s so interesting!” he replies, cupping the little girl’s head.

Derek picks up a picture book off the bedside table and looks at the cover.  

“That’s her favorite, isn’t it Claire-bear?” Stiles coos, rocking her.  “It’s cute.  You should read it.”

So he does.  Derek reads through _The Pout-Pout Fish_ three times before Claire’s eyes fall closed and she starts dozing on Stiles’ chest.  

“Hit the light,” Stiles says, yawning.  “I’m not moving her again.”

“Okay,” Derek says, like staying right now isn’t a completely absurd thing to do.  His entire family will be up in three hours ready to open presents, but right now, Derek doesn’t care. He lays down beside Stiles in the twin sized bed, close enough that he can feel Claire breathing beside him.  

“Thanks for bringing the gifts back,” Stiles says, reaching his pinky out to snag Derek’s, linking them together.

“It was a really nice picture of you and your dad,” Derek says softly, turning in toward Stiles, placing his free hand on Claire’s back to feel her breathing.  It’s just like when he first babysat Gracie except entirely different.  Being here with Stiles is like nothing he’s ever experienced before.

“My mom took it,” Stiles mutters, eyes blinking slowly.  “I found it in the attic last Christmas but it took me a while to be able to look at it.”

“She’s been gone a long time?” Derek asks, inching closer to Stiles.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, smiling sadly.  “Thanks for bringing her back to me.”

“I’m glad I found you,” Derek says, answering his smile.

“I’m glad you did, too,” Stiles says, leaning in to press his lips against Derek’s.  It’s dry and over too quick, but Derek doesn’t ask for anything more.  They fall asleep like that, curled in toward each other, pinkies linked, with Claire a solid warmth between them.

It’s 8 a.m. when a soft knock on the door wakes Derek.  When he peels his eyes open he sees the Sheriff standing in the doorway, eyes flicking between him and Claire.  He gives a small nod and leaves them be.

As quietly as he can, Derek pulls himself out of bed and grabs the handle of his suitcase.  His family is probably waiting on him to open presents.  Just as he’s thinking about whether or not it would be creepy to kiss Stiles’ cheek goodbye, the man’s eyes flash open.

“Leaving already?” Stiles asks, lips curving into a warm smile.  “I thought you might stay forever.”

Derek smiles back, reaching for Stiles’ hand.  “I might,” he says softly, knowing Stiles needs the sleep and he’ll only get it as long as Claire is still quiet.  “I know you guys probably have plans, but what would you say to dessert at my parents’ house tonight?”

“We’ll be there,” Stiles says, giving Derek a wink.  “My dad knows where you live.”

“That’s not terrifying at all,” Derek says with a small laugh, leaning in to kiss Stiles once on the mouth before grabbing his suitcase and heading back downstairs.  

“Must have been some thank you,” the Sheriff says from his seat on the couch when Derek passes him.

“Yeah,” Derek says with a sheepish smile.  He knows he didn’t do anything wrong but he still feels like a teenager getting caught with his pants down.  “I’ll see you all later for dessert,” he says, giving a quick wave and practically running from the house.  

Driving quickly, Derek gets home in a matter of minutes and throws Peter’s car in park.  He fetches his suitcase and goes around back in an attempt to sneak into the kitchen.  

“Really Derek?” Laura asks, looking up from her cup of coffee when he pads into the kitchen.  “You do a walk of shame on Christmas morning and you can’t even be bothered to come in wearing last night’s clothes like a normal person?”

“It’s not a walk of shame,” he says quickly, feeling the blush rise to his cheeks as he looks down at his flannel pajama pants.  

“Because you’re not feeling ashamed, or because nothing happened?”

“Nothing happened!” he blurts out, burying his head in a cabinet to search for a coffee mug.

“Holy shit,” he hears, seeing Cora appear in the kitchen doorway when he looks up.  “You fucked suitcase man!”

“I did not!” Derek shouts, turning his back on both his sisters as he busies himself with fixing his coffee.  “And his name is Stiles.”

“Stiles Stilinski?  That weird kid from high school who used to do bad magic tricks in the cafeteria?” Cora asks, eyebrows furrowing.

“I knew it!  I knew he did magic!” Derek exclaims.  “I’m going to kiss that smug look off his face when he gets here.”

“He’s coming for Christmas?” Laura says, eyes lighting up.  “Ohh, Derek’s got it baaaaad,” she calls.  “Do I hear the pitter-patter of little feet already?  You want to have his babies?”

“Well, actually,” Derek says, a smile crossing his face as he thinks about Claire and her Binky Bear.

“No shit,” Cora says, deadpan.  “I don’t believe it.  You and Stiles and a baby makes three?”

“Her name is Claire and they’re coming over with the Sheriff after dinner,” Derek says, taking a sip of his coffee.

“What’s this I hear about more grandchildren?” his mother calls, her steps heavy on the stairs.  

Derek groans while Laura and Cora laugh and throw mini marshmallows at him, but he can’t stop smiling.  

Hours later, when dessert is long since gone and Stiles and Derek are kissing under the mistletoe as Claire plays pet hospital with Milo, Derek thinks that maybe following the jelly beans was the smartest dumb thing he’s ever done.


End file.
